


i can tell that we are gonna be friends

by doespenguinsisgay



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Growing Up, M/M, POV Outsider, World Juniors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 12:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17121242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doespenguinsisgay/pseuds/doespenguinsisgay
Summary: To a spectator looking in, the two of them seem about as night and day. Sasha is a red-blooded Russian and Sidney is a polite, Canadian boy. But as far as any of them are concerned, Sidney is just as Russian as anyone else born between her borders.(or, sidney grows up in moscow with sasha. zhenya grows up in canada. as anyone would have expected, they still meet.)





	i can tell that we are gonna be friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pr_scatterbrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/gifts).



> psa if u or anyone u know is mentioned above please click away now and spare both of us the suffering!!
> 
> hi love!! happy holidays, i hope you enjoy this fic i have written for you :) i absolutely LOVED your idea of sidney growing up in russia and geno growing up in canada, and the fact that no matter where they grow up they always seem to find each other. and i had to take the opportunity to have sid and ovi be best friends.. plus, i expanded my horizons and wrote a little sasha semin in there, which i have never done before. i did a little research abt him bc i didnt know a lot, but you were right, he DOES deserve all the fix it au’s!
> 
> ALSO i should add, when sid, geno, or ovi are speaking to each other, assume it’s in russian, bc they’re all far mor comfortable in it. however sid and geno are both fluent in english as well, but both speak with a very slight russian accent (geno moreso than sid)
> 
> anyway, the amount of research that i did for this fic is embarrassing, even though i did end up stretching the details a little bit to fit the plot.. i hope you enjoy! thanks for your wonderful ideas!
> 
> title from we‘re going to be friends - jack johnson

_ 1996 _

 

To a spectator looking in, the two of them seem about as night and day. Sasha is a red-blooded Russian and Sidney is a polite, Canadian boy. But as far as any of them are concerned, Sidney is just as Russian as anyone else born between her borders.

 

The first day of practice for their youth team, when Sidney had shown up alone and lingered near the back of the lines while they ran drills, his shy, staccato, western syllables struggling through stiff Russian, Sasha had taken one look at him and decided,  _ yup, that’s my new best friend. _ He had skated up to the boy, clearly younger than the rest of the team, and offered to be partners for a passing drill using easy, clean vocabulary. He hadn’t known what to expect when he fired the puck up the ice, but what he got was Sidney blowing through the two stand-in defensemen and sending it flying into the back of the net. He had hands beyond his years and skated on a practiced edge that the other boys on the team could only hope to perfect by their adult years.

 

Yeah, he was definitely going to be Sasha’s new best friend.

 

_ 2003 _

 

At fifteen and seventeen, the two of them are inseparable, in school, at practice, whenever one of them is around, the other isn’t too far behind. Sidney’s Russian has improved to the point where his accent blends into his words, barely noticeable, and he no longer looks like a fish out of water, eyes blown wide when first meeting someone new. Not to mention, their line is unstoppable in the fucking Russian Superleague. Two of Russia’s golden boys, on top of the eastern hockey world.

 

Sidney loves it in Moscow, from what Sasha can tell, and Moscow loves him right back. Most of the fans don’t care, that one of their brightest young stars wasn’t born on Russian soil, but there are some who turn up their noses at him, but even they still pound the glass when he rips the puck past the opposing team’s goalie all the same. Sasha is proud to call Sidney his teammate, his friend, his brother.

 

When Sasha leaves for World Juniors, he wishes Sidney could come along with him, but Canada doesn’t call. They’re fools not to. The pair spends the night on the roof of Sasha’s house passing a bottle of liquor that they’d stolen from his parents, in anticipation of a successful streak in Halifax while bearing the white, blue, and red. Sidney refuses to drink to it, being the superstitious bastard that he is, but his confidence in them goes unsaid.

 

“You could play for Russia, you know. We’d gladly take you. This is just as much of your country as Canada is.” Sasha tells him, taking a swig from the bottle. And it’s true, he could take advantage of his dual citizenship. He was born in Russia, to Canadian-born parents, but they went back to Nova Scotia when Sidney was a baby, then moved back to Russia right before he turned nine. He’d heard and told the story a thousand times. Sidney shrugs and shakes his head, accepting the bottle from Sasha’s outstretched fingers.

 

“It’s too late to make that argument now, by the time I’d actually be allowed to play for Russia, the tournament would be over.” He counters, staring up at the smoggy sky, stars fighting to glimpse through a thick layer of grey. “Besides, someone's gotta stay back, keep the Dynamo chugging. This season has been good to us.” His voice sounds far away, like he’s speaking to the moon rather than to Sasha.

 

“Yeah, you and Gosha both.” Sasha teases, but he knows Sidney would much rather be competing in Halifax than staying back in Moscow, no matter how much he puts on a humble face. “You don’t have to give me the media answer, I’m not some damn beat reporter.” Sasha says gently, leaning back on his hands as he watches the occasional car drive by the front of his house. Sidney sighs, his shoulders sag, and it looks like something has snapped inside of him as his posture relaxes.

 

“It fucking sucks.” He says, almost immediately, and takes a huge sip, not even flinching as it burns down his throat. Sasha just nods, because he gets it. “Next year, just wait. We’re gonna kick your asses.” Sidney grins, all smug and cocky. It really is a terrible look for him, even if it’s an obvious joke.

 

“In your dreams, Canada.” Sasha shoots back, reaching for the bottle. “Next year, though, I’ll drink to that.”

 

-

 

The team has a few practices before boarding the plane, but they’ve been hearing of an Evgeni Malkin who will join them when they touch down in Halifax, a Russian born talent who has been the subject of the Western hockey world’s whisperings for the last few months, playing the O. A few of the guys seem a little apprehensive to play with him, having had the privilege to grow up in Canada, where the hockey is taken even more seriously than Russia and funding is much higher. Sasha, however, like most of the team, is practically vibrating with excitement to get on the same ice as this guy. Their coaches had showed them some tape and the guy is a fucking rocket.

 

Somehow, Sasha ends up getting roomed with Evgeni, because they’re both on the younger end of the roster, Pestunov and Yezhov already claiming a room together as two out of only the three seventeen year olds at the camp, so Sasha offers to room with Evgeni, instead of sticking him with an older guy he’s never met.

 

Evgeni greets them in the lobby of their hotel like a bunch of old friends, after Coach introduces him to the rest of them. He fits right in with the team, because despite his admittedly awkward posture and nervous fidgeting, his sense of humor goes right along with the group.

 

“Hey, listen up. This is Evgeni Malkin, he’ll be playing with you boys in this tournament. It’s no secret what he can do on the ice, so help him feel at home. Ovechkin, where are you?” Coach claps him on the shoulder, looking over the group. Sasha steps forwards, waving their keycards in the air. Coach pushes Evgeni towards him with a dry smile. “This is Alex, you two are rooming together.” He leaves them alone with a nod and dismisses the team to find their own rooms, which leads to a bit of chaos, letting a bunch of rowdy Russian teenagers loose in the hotel.

 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Sasha.” He re-introduces himself, offering up his fist and his friendliest smile. Evgeni grins back, knocking their knuckles together. He hikes his bag up farther onto his shoulder and moves towards the elevators.

 

“I’m Zhenya. I know who you are, I’ve seen some of your tape, man, you’re fucking crazy good.” Zhenya says, accepting the keycard Sasha is holding out to him. “Try not to break my ankle with that shot of yours in practice, eh?” He adds playfully, and Sasha bites back a chirp about the added  _ eh?,  _ which sounds so foreign next to the smooth Russian syllables, as he follows the group of guys into the elevator.

 

Zhenya makes it easy for Sasha to like him, and they become fast friends from then on out. He seems to have the same effect on the rest of the guys. And if practice is anything to go by, they’re gonna tear it the fuck up this year.

 

-

 

Sasha spends a lot of time with Zhenya during the tournament on and off the ice, between the early afternoon games and going to clubs where they don’t get carded and convincing their teammates to buy them alcohol because they can’t legally drink in Canada yet, only sixteen and seventeen. Sometimes, though, they’ll just stay in and talk and have some low-budget movie running, serving as background noise.

 

Zhenya tells him about the O, being Russian in such a proud country, why his parents had moved to Canada, about his friends on his team. Sasha tells him all about the RSL, what it’s like to play pro, all of the schemes that him and Sidney get up to on a daily basis. Apparently, he talks about Sidney a lot. How could he not, when they spend almost every day together?

 

“I’m hearing so much about this Sid, it makes me wonder. What is he, your boyfriend?” Zhenya asks one time, when they’re stretched out on their beds, after a late night McDonald’s run. They’ve been going on a lot of those, the past week. Sasha frowns around his straw, taking a long sip from his drink. The question catches him off guard. It sounds like it should be a chirp, but Zhenya’s voice doesn’t sound judgmental. He doesn’t usually hear about that kind of stuff, not back in Russia.

 

“No, no,” Sasha finally replies, after swallowing. He shoves a few fries into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “He’s like my brother, I’ve known him for so long. Plus, I’m not- I’m not gay, I don’t think.” Zhenya nods, face effortlessly neutral.

 

“It’d be cool, though, if you were.” Zhenya tells him, crumpling the wrapper of his first Big Mac into a tight little ball and tossing it towards the trash can. It bounces off of the rim and lands on the carpet, causing him to frown. Sasha doesn’t know what to say, he isn’t used to talking about this kind of stuff. He supposes he doesn’t really mind, despite the unfortunate but dominant ideology of his country.

 

“Yeah, uh, same with you.” He says carefully, as to not sound too forced. Sasha envies Zhenya, almost, how freely he feels he can discuss it. He loves Russia, loves everything about it. But he knows that their policies can prove to be a little problematic at times, to say the least. He does his best not to reflect those parts of the culture he lives and breathes, but sometimes he can’t help it.

 

“That’s good, ‘cause I am.” Zhenya admits easily, watching the grainy image on the television screen as he begins to work on his second burger. Sasha stares, for a moment, processing what he had just heard. Zhenya looks fuzzy, in the bluish light of the screen, and completely at peace with himself, with the conversation, with everything. Sasha figures he should be at peace as well.

 

“That’s cool.” He manages to say, cracking his knuckles in attempt to fill the silence that they fall into. Zhenya stretches his arms over his head and looks down at the food in his lap.

 

“I’m stuffed, I don’t know if I can finish this.” He yawns, patting his stomach happily. Sasha grins, feeling the tension drain out of his shoulders.

 

“Really? Evgeni Malkin, human black hole, can’t finish his food. What is wrong with the universe?” He chirps, and Zhenya just flips him the bird, but he has a huge smile on his face, their previous conversation already forgotten, as he aims the empty fry container at Sasha’s head.

 

-

 

As the tournament progresses, they win, and they win, and they win. Sasha gets high off of the victories, proud to wear his country’s crest as the team does as well as it does. They’re set to play Canada, in the final, and suddenly, Sasha is very grateful that Sidney isn’t here with him. He doesn’t know what could be worse, losing or having to beat his team to win. He knows, however, once the sting of whatever the outcome will be fades, Sidney will welcome him back with the same fond ribbing that they’ve been passing back and forth since they met.

 

Sasha will admit, a weight lifts off of his shoulders when the third period ends, and they’ve beaten Canada three to two. The celebration is all a blur, but the swell of the Russian anthem is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, the song of the game-ending buzzer is a close second. The team gets drunk out of their minds that night, after the communal, good natured chirp of Zhenya not being able to handle his alcohol after learning to drink with the Canadians, but in the end, he keeps up just fine.

 

On the plane ride home, everyone is painfully hungover and exhausted, but most of them are still wearing their gold medals heavy around their necks. Sasha feels like his mouth and nose and ears are all plugged with cotton, but he’s buzzing with excitement to get home and see his parents and his team and tell everyone about the parties he went to and the people he had met. He had also happily accepted Zhenya’s email address, while the team had said their goodbyes to him in the lobby before boarding their bus to the airport, so that they could keep in touch until next year.

 

He closes his eyes after settling into his seat and falls asleep almost immediately, the excitement of the last two weeks tearing into him and eating him alive as the sounds around him fade to white noise.

 

-

 

Sidney, naturally, is the first person Sasha unloads his tales of the tournament onto when he gets home and unpacked. He tells him about the hockey and the team dynamics and the rivalries and his newfound friendship with Zhenya.

 

“Sid, you’d love him, you’ve gotta meet him. If Canada doesn’t call next year, which they will, I don’t care, you’ll come play for Russia.” Sasha rambles from Sidney’s mattress, as the boy balances himself on his office chair, feet kicked up onto the desk. He looks amused, notebook in his lap as he finishes up whatever homework he’s doing. Geometry, maybe.

 

“I dunno, you two sound awfully similar, I’m not sure I could handle two Sasha’s.” He teases, and Sasha makes an offended noise. He shakes his head, stretching his leg out to try and tip the chair over, but Sidney pushes his ankle away before he can do so. “I can’t believe you have a  _ fucking gold medal, _ that is so badass.” He keeps his voice even, but Sasha can hear the subtle gushing hidden under his words.

 

“Maybe Russia could forfeit one year, then you could win one too, with Canada.” Sasha suggests, half-kidding, and they fall into a comfortable silence. He rolls over onto his side, looking over at Sidney. “You know, Zhenya told me something interesting one night, at the hotel.” Sidney hums, a signal for him to continue, that he’s listening. “He came out to me.” Sidney’s pencil freezes from where it had been moving over the page.

 

“Like, he told you he’s gay?” He asks quietly, not looking up from his notebook, and Sasha hopes this wasn’t a bad idea. He assumes Sidney would be cool about it, maybe validate some of Sasha’s internal monologue, that the  _ don’t tell anyone this, but… _ goes unsaid. Sasha nods, and Sidney presses his lips together in a straight line. “What did you say to him?”

 

“I said it was cool,” He answers, propping his head up on his hand. “I wasn’t lying. I think it’s kind of bullshit, some of the laws here.” Sasha admits, already miles more comfortable with this conversation than the one he’d had with Zhenya back in Halifax. After everything had sunken in, Sasha realized that it shouldn’t be all that taboo of a thing to talk about with people you trust. Sidney visibly relaxes, shooting a tiny grin his way.

 

“Yeah, me too.” He closes his notebook, tossing it onto his bed near Sasha’s feet. “So, what’d you think of Nova Scotia? Pretty great, right?” Sidney asks proudly, an obvious attempt to change the conversation, but Sasha lets himself be swept up with the tide.

 

-

 

They fall back into their pattern, their pattern of absolutely ripping the RSL to shreds. The season flies by in what feels like minutes, a framework of games filled with parties and school and practices. They fight tooth and nail to make it to playoffs, reaching out for victory, but they let it slip through their tired, callused fingers in their final strides of the first round. The team disappears into the offseason to heal, some guys preparing for the draft, others traveling to grand destinations in the west and getting drunk off of hotel champagne.

 

Sidney leaves late in the spring with his parents and sister to visit family in Canada for a few months. He had been excited about the trip, to meet up with some guys from his U18 Worlds run and train with renowned coaching staff. Sasha idly wonders if Sidney speaks with a Russian accent like the rest of them, but he’s heard enough of his English that he knows he could pass in Canada.

 

Sasha goes to the beach in mid-July and tries to forget a bitter end to an offseason by soaking up the sun, lounging across warm towels, and watching the condensation from his drink drip down his sandy fingers. He succeeds, arriving a few weeks later with a fire under his ass and a pack of recharged batteries. This season better be good, it has to be, scouts will be coming from every kind of NHL team, and this year he finally qualifies for the draft.

 

As the team trickles back into Moscow come the end of the summer, everyone holds their heads high and have the same post-summer afterglow, skin tanned brown and a fiery desire to win deep in their chests. They train and they train and they charge into the season buckets first.

 

Sasha is painfully aware of each move he makes, each slap of his stick, each cut of his skate, in every single game they play. He has to make it count, if he plans on going first. 

 

(As the weeks rush by, he pretends not to notice the building narrative of the rivalry forming between Sasha and Zhenya, which exists only in the minds of the media. It makes for a good story, all rivalries do, two warriors under the Russian flag battle for first overall pick, fighting to make their country proud. In reality, although Sasha would much, much rather beat Zhenya to the stage, they’re still friends and brothers by nation.)

 

And it fucking works, the Dynamo are winning and his numbers are climbing, thanks to Sidney. Their line puts up point after gritty point, and Sasha feels like he has a little room to breathe, grateful that he has Sidney to help keep the pressure of the scouts from bearing down on his shoulders.

 

Sasha turns eighteen at the height of September, so naturally the guys take him out to get, for the first time legally, hammered. He doesn’t catch the email Zhenya had shot him until he’s stumbling past his desk after choking up last night’s decision and fighting off the monster hangover looming over him as he crashes back into his bed, reminding himself to respond later when he doesn’t want to gouge his eyes out.

 

-

 

The next few months glide by in a series of peaks and valleys, they float above the rest when they succeed, but when they fall, they fall hard. Sasha just puts his head down and plays, he deletes the bookmarks he had saved for some of the sports sites he used to sparsely scroll through and ignores the articles about an indecisive Moscow Dynamo.

 

The end of November slides to a screeching halt when Team Russia eventually comes knocking and Sasha is selfishly relieved that he gets to take a break, a break from the responsibility of his team to play in a tournament where most people haven’t been scrutinizing the path of his team with watchful eyes. Come mid-December, Sasha heads to the airport with a ticket to Helsinki, but this time, luckily, Sidney is right by his side. He’ll fly in with Team Russia, but will break off once they land in Finland. No one seems to mind as they sluggishly drop into their seats and pull out books and neck pillows.

 

Once they land, Sidney is whisked off to meet with Team Canada and Zhenya joins the Russians in the lobby of the hotel, just like last time. Sasha had agreed to room with him again and watches a toothy grin crack Zhenya’s face in half when he approaches him with a pair of their room keys.

 

“Sasha, buddy, how the hell are you? It’s been too long, man.” Zhenya greets loudly, pulling him in for a quick hug. He’s taller than Sasha remembers, and he’s packed some more muscle on, but he’s his same friend from the year before. They fall in like they haven’t spent a day apart, dragging their luggage through the lobby. Once they’re crammed into one of the elevators, Zhenya pushes his sunglasses up to rest on his head. “The guys from Team Canada mentioned a Sidney Crosby joining them in Helsinki. Could this be your Sidney?”

 

“Yeah, Canada realized they needed him after they got their asses handed to them last year by a bunch of Russian bastards.” Sasha replies proudly, accepting the high five Zhenya is clearly offering. “I can’t wait for you guys to meet, it’s gonna be great.”

 

The first thing Sasha does once they’ve settled into the room is flip his phone open and text Sidney their room number, as Zhenya flops down onto the bed he’d laid claim to, farthest from the door. Sidney doesn’t respond right away, so they turn on some local channel on the TV and kill time until dinner.

 

-

 

That night, the teams get together at some club that the IIHF had rented out as some means of a ‘Get to Know Your Opponents’ party, and Sasha, equipped with drinks and a wristband that declares him of legal drinking age, sets off to find Sidney. He isn’t too hard to track down, mingling among the crowd packed into the corner that the Canadians had claimed for themselves. Zhenya follows close behind, occasionally stopping to introduce Sasha to guys that he knows from the O.

 

When they finally reach Sidney, he lights up as soon as he spots Sasha. He excuses himself from whatever tall, dark, and handsome he had been chatting up to greet them near the end of the bar, weaving through the crowd and apologizing when his infamously big ass knocks into people. Sasha manages to squeeze in a chirp before Sidney has even slowed to a stop, but he just rolls his eyes and ignores him.

 

“Sasha!” He cheers, accepting one of the drinks Sasha is holding out to him, despite the stamp on his hand that boldy reads  _ alaikäinen: _ underaged, ink already beginning to smudge off. It isn’t like anyone is paying attention to it anyway. Sidney looks happy, relaxed, which is a relief. Sasha is glad that he seems to be getting along with the team. Sidney himself had voiced his fear that he’d get singled out for being Russian-born, but no one seems to bat an eye at the fact. He’s too talented for that to happen.

 

“Sid, this is Zhenya! The one I was telling you about, he’s great.” Sasha yells over the pounding music, pushing his friend forwards. He opens his mouth to introduce Sidney to Zhenya, but he beats him to it.

 

“You must be the famous Sidney Crosby, it’s so good to finally meet you.” Zhenya steps into Sidney’s space, offering a hand out that Sidney politely takes, shaking it with a grin that Sasha can tell borders on nervous. Sasha doesn’t miss the charm rolling off of Zhenya in waves, the glimpse of  _ something _ in his sleepy brown eyes as he smiles down at Sidney. He also doesn’t miss the rosiness that swells in the apples of Sidney’s cheeks, something he’s never seen before. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the two were flirting with each other.

 

“Nice to meet you, too. Sasha has told me so much about you.” Sidney returns, busying himself with taking a sip of the colorful drink Sasha had brought him. Sasha narrows his eyes at the pair, they’re  _ definitely  _ flirting with each other. He can see it in their body language, the way they’re leaning towards each other. Hell, Sidney is looking up at Zhenya through his eyelashes and everything. Sasha smirks, watching the scene unfold in front of him.

 

“All good things I hope.” Sidney nods, wrapping pink lips around his straw. Sasha vows, from this point forward, to be the best wingman to the two of them that he can be. He excuses himself to the bathroom and when he returns he pretends to be swept up in conversation with the first person he sees. That person ends up being a guy he recognizes from Team Russia, another Sasha that is currently playing for the Capitals in the NHL.

 

It’s a pleasant conversation, Semin proves to be very charming and has a similar sense of humor to Sasha. It also helps that he’s nice to look at, too. He asks him about the NHL, if this is his first WJC, and just about how his night is going. When Sasha breaks away, something warm spreads through his chest that he figures is the alcohol, and he goes to find his friends again. He spots them sharing a booth near the corner with a couple other guys, but he can tell their attention is on each other. He downs the rest of his drink and gets ready for a good night, making his way back over to the group.

 

-

 

Team Russia doesn’t have the start that they could have hoped for, but it isn’t as bad as it could be. They practice hard and party harder, and the off-ice chemistry feels stronger than it had last year. The team spend lots of time crammed into various guys’ hotel rooms playing cards and just hanging out. It’s nice, relaxed.

 

One night, after they’d crashed one of Team Canada’s better games- for research, they’d claimed- Sidney joins them for a few hours, before he tugs Sasha towards the door and gives him a capital L look, which means he’s done and is ready to leave. He nods, putting a hand on the doorknob.

 

“I’m getting kind of bored, too.” Suddenly, Sasha has an ingenious idea. “We should sneak out. Zhenya and I did it all last year, we’ll go to McDonald’s.” He suggests, opening the door just enough for the two of them to slip out. “Want me to invite him along?” Sidney considers it for a moment, before nodding. Sasha signals for Zhenya to follow, who had already been watching them from across the room, and he’s out of the door before he even knows the plan. The three of them escape into the hotel unnoticed.

 

-

 

Zhenya walks Sidney to his room while Sasha smuggles a couple leftover Big Macs for the room back to Team Russia’s floor. Zhenya is close behind him, stupidly giddy smile on his face. He flops down onto his bed, starfished out and staring dreamily up at the ceiling. Sasha kicks his shoes at one of Zhenya’s feet, dangling over the edge of the bed, and drops onto his own mattress.

 

“Sasha, where did you find him? I think I’m in love.” Zhenya croons, scrubbing one of his hands down his face. Sasha just laughs at him from the other side of the room, aiming a balled up sock at the side of his head.

 

“Maybe you would’ve been able to play with him if you’d stayed in Russia.” Sasha teases, rolling off of his bed to get changed out of his jeans. Zhenya lifts a hand and flips him the bird. He roots around in his bag for a pair of gym shorts as Zhenya continues from where he’s sprawled out. “Besides, you’ve known him for a week.”

 

“I don’t care, he’s perfect.” He moons, rolling over onto his side and looking seriously at Sasha. His gaze is intense enough that Sasha almost falls off the side of the bed. “You know Sid the best, do you think I have a chance?” Sasha shrugs, worrying at his lip. He does think Zhenya has a chance, but he has to be careful how he plays this out.

 

“I bet you would.” Sasha says confidently, doing his best to convey that he means it. Zhenya hums thoughtfully, eyes sliding to the side to assess whatever thoughts are running rampant through his brain.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

In the end, Zhenya doesn’t make a move by the end of the tournament, but Sasha does catch him in the lobby of the hotel, as they’re checking out, giving Sidney his number and smiling warmly down at him as he presses Sidney’s Nokia into his palm. It’s painfully obvious, but Sasha won’t have time to talk to Sidney about it until they’re in the privacy of one of their own rooms.

 

Sasha supposes it will do for now, as he goes to say his own goodbye and wish him luck in the upcoming draft. He gives Sidney a knowing look as they head towards their bus to be taken to the airport.

 

-

 

That summer, Sasha goes first overall and Zhenya goes second in the 2004 NHL Draft. He catches Zhenya after they’ve both gone through the expected media scrums and exchanged formalities with the third overall, a kid from the O that got picked up by Chicago. Sasha grins wide at him, away from all the cameras, and pulls him in for a hug.

 

“Congrats, man, Pittsburgh pulled a winner.” He tells him, and Zhenya is glowing. He looks like he might vibrate out of his skin and as he returns the sentiment, the door to the room they were herded into flies open only to interrupt him. Sidney is standing in the doorway, ill fitted shirt and slacks hanging off of him in some places and hugging him in others.

 

“Sasha! Zhenya! Congrats!” He yells, throwing himself at the two of them and reeling them in, one arm flung around each of their necks in a group hug that really shouldn’t be physically possible. The three of them let it happen, regardless, letting Sidney squeeze the breath out of them. “My boys are 1st and 2nd overall, who knew? Well, I figured, but that’s besides the point.” Sidney goes on, barely making any sense as he pulls away from the two of them, looking over them with his hands on his hips.

 

“Now we just have to hope that Pittsburgh gets a first overall next year.” Zhenya winks, and Sidney shakes his head, going bright pink. Sasha laughs and subtly elbows him in the arm, wiggling his eyebrows at the shortest of the three.

 

“With you on the roster? No way in hell the Pens aren’t gonna rip up this whole fucking season, and same with Washington.” He says confidently, beaming at the both of them until their moment is cut short by the buzzing of Sasha’s cellphone. His mama is trying to find him, so he excuses himself from the room with one last wink thrown Sidney’s way as he pushes the door open.

 

_ 2005 _

 

When Pittsburgh won the first overall pick in 2005, Sidney had almost knocked his door down trying to barge into Sasha’s apartment. He looked like he’d been about to launch himself through the ceiling, a mess of nerves and excitement wrapped up in a neat little bow. That night, he’d admitted to Sasha that he wants to first overall for more reasons than one.

 

“Zhenya is a prospect in Pittsburgh, he’s probably going to play there next year. Sasha, I’m-“ Sidney bit his lip, looking down at his hands as Sasha settled down next to him on the couch, in the dark of his living room. The moment had felt too fragile to turn on the lights. Instead, the lights of the city had streamed in through the windows, casting a blue glow over the room. “You know that I’ve kept in touch with Zhenya.” Sasha nodded wordlessly. “I think I- you know, feel strongly towards him.” Even in the dark, Sasha had been able to make out the heat gathering in Sidney’s cheeks.

 

“Sid, it’s cool. That’s great, I trust him with you.” Sasha had told him, to put an end to Sidney’s helpless attempts to conjure up words through vague hand gestures. “As for the draft, you’re a fucking beauty, dude. You’re gonna be fine. They’d be stupid not to draft you.” Sidney had gone limp, letting his head drop onto Sasha’s shoulder.

 

“I can’t go to Anaheim. No fucking way, that’s on the other side of the country from you both. I’d never survive.” Sidney lamented. Sasha had just taken a long sip of his water, shaking his head.

 

“Shut up, you won’t.”

 

-

 

Sasha is right, in the end, Sidney goes first overall. Of course, Sasha comes to the draft, and so does Zhenya. They’re both waiting for him after Sidney hugs his parents and celebrates with them, and each of them get a tight squeeze from him. Sasha wonders what the media would say, at the sight of the three of them together. They’d already been building a false narrative of a rivalry between the three of them. Sasha and Zhenya as first and second overall, Sidney and Sasha for being teammates in Moscow and now both playing their rookie seasons for divisional opponents due to the league lockout this year. Sidney and Zhenya for being elite young additions to the Penguins lineup, battling to be the best. It’s all bullshit, is what it is.

 

He also wonders what the media would say about the budding young romance between the two saviors of Pittsburgh, as he watches his best friend bat his eyelashes at Zhenya, and chuckles to himself. He’s pulled out of his train of thought as Sidney turns a thousand watt smile on him and grabs the both of them by the arm, dragging them down the hall so he can congratulate the rest of the draft picks. Sasha notes the fond grin Zhenya is wearing, and he knows the two of them will be okay.

 

_ 2018 _

 

Sasha never enjoys a loss, nobody does, but it softens the frustration a little on the nights against Pittsburgh, when Sasha leaves the locker room stuffed back into his gameday suit and is met with Sidney and Zhenya leaning against the wall across the hall from the door, Sidney’s head on Zhenya’s shoulder as he types away at his phone.

 

“Good game, boys,” Sasha speaks, voice ringing off of the walls of the empty hallway. Sidney looks up and tugs him into a tight hug, tucking his face into Sasha’s neck. Zhenya is next, clasping his hand tightly and going in for the bro hug, patting him on the shoulder. “I guess one game doesn’t matter, we did win the cup last year.” He ribs gently. Zhenya returns with an equally shiteating grin and shrugs.

 

“Three to one, Ovechkin.” He bites back as the three of them head towards the exit. They grab a late dinner to catch up, despite playing each other only a month ago. Still, it’s comforting to spend time with the two of them and just talk. Sasha doesn’t miss the subtle exchanges that the two of them have, their hands lingering over each other when Zhenya asks Sidney to pass him the salt or the way Sidney laughs a little too hard at one of Zhenya’s dumb jokes, face going pink as he struggles to catch his breath. Sasha rolls his eyes, but he gets it. Even after all these years, they’re grossly head over heels.

 

“Good to see that nothing ever changes with you two,” Sasha comments offhandedly, stretching his arm over the empty chair next to him. Sidney shrugs, waving him off when he reaches for the bill that the waitress had left on the edge of their table. “I still remember Zhenya telling me that he thought he was in love with you a week after meeting you, back at Juniors.” Zhenya grins sheepishly, when Sidney elbows him in the side.

 

“Is that true?” He chirps, but Sasha has known him long enough that he knows that Sidney will bring this up away from his own prying eyes. Zhenya just smiles down at him before looking back at Sasha.

 

“Whatever, Sasha, how’s your own sweetheart? How come Semin couldn’t have tagged along tonight?” He teases, but Sasha laughs him off. Sasha had offered, but Alex had shaken his head and assured him to go on without him, that he’d meet him back at the hotel. They’d had a long fought game and Alex’s ice time had been higher than usual, so Sasha had let him go without too much of a fight.

 

They stay tucked away in the corner of the nearly empty restaurant until late, lost in their conversation, and it makes Sasha miss the two of them more than ever, especially Sidney. These catch-up sessions never fail to make Sasha’s chest ache with fondness, as well as a reminiscing about the days of their youth, playing for Moscow and growing up together. He wouldn’t trade his time away for anything, especially now that he had recently added a Cup ring to his hardware, but he does miss the time he’d spent in Sidney’s parents’ home, just being kids.

 

They say goodbye when they drop Sasha off at the hotel, and his ears buzz with the silence of the lobby, as he treads across the neat tile floors in the direction of the elevators. He watches the floors tick up, his whole body warm from head to toe. After he quickly strips out of his gameday suit and slides into bed behind Alex, Sasha sighs happily. Sure, he misses the carefree days of when they were young, but he thinks that their lives now are doing just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a tumblr! come say hi at [starryandersen](https://starryandersen.tumblr.com)


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